


Missives and Reunion

by thecryoftheseagulls



Series: Zeryn Brosca [9]
Category: Dragon Age: Origins, Dragon Age: Origins - Awakening
Genre: Alistair has been in Orlais getting during Awakening, F/M, Letters, Morning Sex, Reunion Sex, Reunions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-11
Updated: 2014-09-28
Packaged: 2018-02-16 11:27:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,449
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2268018
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thecryoftheseagulls/pseuds/thecryoftheseagulls
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>While Zeryn Brosca is running around dealing with talking darkspawn during Awakening, Alistair is being interrogated by their Warden superiors in Orlais about how a Warden recruit survived slaying an archdemon. They write letters back and forth, and Alistair finally arrives at Vigil's Keep a short time after the events of Awakening end (the letters included here are mostly a selection from Zeryn's perspective).</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Letters

Dear Alistair,

Arrived at Vigil’s Keep to find the place under attack by darkspawn, with nearly all the Orlesian Wardens slaughtered. Worst of all, the darkspawn who led them spoke. I do not know what new horror this is, but it does not look good. This region is in chaos – intelligent darkspawn roam free and it is as though the Blight never ended. There is much to be done, although I’m remain unconvinced that I’m the best woman for the task. I am now the arl here, not just the Commander of the Grey. It is unnerving. I suppose if I were to return to Orzammar I would be in a similar situation, now that they have given me my own House. That does not make it any more familiar, though. I am not used to being gifted nobility. 

Turns out Oghren had journeyed up here to volunteer to become a Warden. It is nice to have a familiar face. I have recruited him and two others, a mage named Anders whose claim to fame seems to be his seven escape attempts from the Circle of Magi, and Nathaniel Howe. I don’t expect you to be enthusiastic about the last – I’m not sure that I am either. He was prowling around the Keep trying to steal back some of his family’s belongings, and it was either kill him or recruit him, so I recruited him. He is a quick one, good with a bow, and I think he’ll be useful, even if I don’t exactly trust him. His father’s depravity is too fresh in the mind for that. But I have no Wardens at the moment, so he’ll have to do. 

I’ll keep you and the Wardens there informed as to our progress. It is strange to be on Grey Warden business without you at my side. Miss you and Cailan already.

With love,  
Zeryn

**********

My love,

I wanted you today. This place…there’s a darkness here that eats away at a person. When the darkspawn were a mindless horde, the only thing I feared about them was their numbers and the archdemon that led them. Now…everything is wrong. These darkspawn plot and speak and steal women. We faced the schemes of humans when we raised an army before, but I don’t know how to face darkspawn who act with cunning, on motivations I cannot understand. And then there are demons and spirits and the Fade, and it all so very beyond this duster of yours.

We went to the Blackmarsh to find a Grey Warden named Kristoff, but he was dead when we got there. Instead we found a darkspawn who called himself the First and spoke of a Mother, and that does not bode well. He trapped us somehow in the Fade, where there was a demon of Pride holding the souls of villagers hostage, and a spirit of Justice who sought to free them. When we made it out, the spirit did too, trapped in Kristoff’s body. So now I have a spirit in a dead man’s body on my side. Not entirely sure what to make of that. It is the oddest recruitment I have made so far (and you know how odd some others have been), but he seems to be good, if that is a thing, and wants justice for the death of the man he now inhabits. He has already proven himself useful. I suspect you would be outraged as usual at my taking in all the strays of the world, but he wanted a purpose and after his help against the demon, I couldn’t help but give it to him.

The strangest of what we found in the marsh was not any of these, but a dragon made of lightning. The ghost of an ancient dragon, I think. I’m not sure. It crosses my mind to lie to you and say we slayed it easily, but my fingers shake and I think of your face and I can’t. This is the fourth dragon I’ve killed, if you count Flemeth, but the first for these new Wardens, and they – we – were unprepared. I’m equipped to deal with fire; it’s why I wear armor made from the bones of that first dragon, but not lightning. The others fell quickly; no one was killed, thankfully, only maimed and incapacitated. I killed it myself. There are dents in my armor from its teeth and I have more than one broken bone, but I will live. I just…want you. And everyone else, if I’m honest. Shale would have been incredibly helpful in that fight. It is good that Oghren is here, and these new Wardens are good people too – Anders has proven a good friend. But I feel very alone. They call me Commander, the famous Hero of Ferelden, but the authority I hold now puts distance between me and everyone else. I hate it. This Keep is too big and empty without you. It’s the Blight all over again, me making life or death decisions for others, and everyone just expects that I know what I’m doing because I killed an archdemon. I know how to survive and I try and save as many as I can, but beyond that I am lost. They should call me Dragonslayer instead of Hero, because at least in killing large things there is a method that I’ve tried to learn, and just because I can plant a blade behind a dragon’s skull doesn’t mean I know how to lead.

None of that is really important, though. I will make it through this, whether I cock it up immeasurably or not, because I need to see you again. I hope things are going better for you in Orlais, love. I miss you. Please come back to me soon.

Zeryn

P.S. Apparently the Howe can summon a wolf from the woods to fight with him. We spent most of the time traipsing around the Blackmarsh with said wolf at our side. It made me miss Cailan even more than usual. Tell him I said so, will you? Look after each other for me. 

**********

Alistair,

Thought I would do some good today by helping a woman in Amaranthine find her missing husband. Turns out he hanged himself because he didn’t think he was worthy of her. 

Some days the despair here is bad. I miss you.

Zeryn

**********

Alistair,

I’m sorry it’s been a while since my last letter. Things have been crazy here, but the worst I think is finally over. An army of darkspawn attacked Amaranthine, and I arrived barely in time to convince the guard that setting fire to the entire city so as to stop the darkspawn was a bad idea. They had a notion that there weren’t any survivors, and with an army on its way to the Keep as well, trapping and burning the darkspawn there seemed like a good idea. I guess. I’ve seen too many places ravaged by darkspawn – Lothering, Denerim. I didn’t want to see it again. We managed to keep the darkspawn at bay and save those who were left, of which there were quite a few. The Keep held, meanwhile, thanks to the Wardens I left there and the strengthening of the fort’s defenses I have been doing.

I’m not sure exactly what to say about the darkspawn behind these attacks. It is…well, complicated. I fear I have not done the right thing. I am sending a full report in another letter for you to pass to our superiors. Read it and you’ll understand. Suffice it to say, I’ve slain another dragon (is that five now?) and slaughtered the broodmother who was controlling most of the darkspawn here (and she was even uglier than the one we found in the Deep Roads. Disgusting). Said dragon also spat lightning instead of flame, but it being actual flesh and bone rather than made of lightning, it was considerably easier to kill than the last ghostly one. I think perhaps these lightning dragons are another breed native to the area? Pure conjecture, though. I know nothing about dragons besides how to kill them. I still say I should be called Dragonslayer rather than the Hero of Ferelden. Hero sounds so solemn and responsible, and Dragonslayer has a nice ring to it. Besides, I mostly kill things, so it’s more accurate in all respects.

Anyways. I miss you. Mostly we’re doing clean-up and repairs now – the darkspawn having all but disappeared back into the Deep Roads. It’s quite boring, actually. There are dead to be mourned, of course, but not as many as there could have been. Velanna has disappeared. There wasn’t a body found, so I suspect she’s not dead, exactly. Otherwise my new recruits are all intact. I suppose I will have to start recruiting more in earnest now, and less from whoever’s convenient. Another responsibility I don’t want.

I’m sure there was something else I was going to tell you. Oh! Sigrun, my latest recruit, is a becoming a fast friend. She’s lovely. We share a lot in common, growing up in Dust Town. Had things gone only a little differently, it is quite possible our lots would have been swapped. I never told you I considered joining the Legion of the Dead, did I? Before Duncan found me. I think you will like her. And Anders of course. Try not to give Nathaniel too much trouble when you come; he’s turned out to be an all right sort, and he’s nothing like his father. You are coming back soon, aren’t you?

I’m sorry this is not more coherent. I wish you were here so that I could talk things out with you properly. Write back soon.

I love you,

~~Zeryn~~

Zeryn Brosca, Dragonslayer


	2. Alistair's Return

It’s nearing the eleventh bell on a particularly stormy night at Vigil’s Keep. At the far end of the great hall, Zeryn Brosca grips the edge of a table and leans over the papers spread across it. Casualty lists, plans for rebuilding the defenses with an accompanying list of materials and costs, recruitment posters, letters promising aid and donations – it’s all there. She’s been poring over paperwork for days. They chased down and slaughtered the last group of darkspawn weeks ago now, and there have been no surface sightings since. There aren’t any excuses left to let her to go traipsing off through the countryside and ignore the pile of very real responsibilities awaiting Ferelden’s Commander of the Grey. So. Leading. Obligations. Giving orders. She pinches the bridge of her nose and sighs.

_Bad things happen when I lead_ , Alistair’s voice says in her head. _We get lost, people die, and the next thing you know I’m stranded somewhere without any pants._ She smiles past the now-familiar ache in her chest, the one she gets whenever she thinks about him and his absence, and murmurs to herself, “Yeah, you and me both, love.”

In her pocket is Alistair’s most recent letter. She pulls it out and reads it again.

** 

_My love,_

_I’m glad to hear that you’re safe, and that you’ve dealt with this Mother we’ve been hearing so much about. You had me worried for some time there with the lack of news. It sounds as though everything has worked out about as well as can be expected. I confess I am unsurprised by the strength of the fortress you’ve built and your efforts in Amaranthine. You succeed at whatever you touch, my dear. This Architect, though, worries me. I’m not surprised you spared him. You always did follow a philosophy of ‘spare the potentially useful ones first, ask questions later.’ But I do wish you’d been able to follow through and kill him after you dealt with the broodmother together. Intelligent darkspawn, needing the blood of Grey Wardens for some kind of perversion of the Joining? It’s like something out of a nightmare. The Wardens here are less than pleased with his existence, and rather outraged that you didn’t kill him, though as usual there’s not much they can do about it._

_On that subject, I think they will be letting me leave soon. I believe they’re finally convinced that I haven’t the faintest idea of how you managed to slay the archdemon and survive. Two fresh recruits like ourselves, we were lucky enough to have stopped the Blight at all, and the mechanics of how we did it are quite beyond me. It’s all due to the Maker’s provision, I’ve told them. I’m quite convincing._

_I look forward to meeting all the new Wardens you’ve acquired. Try not to forget about poor old me while you’re busy making friends with Anders and Sigrun and the rest, will you? Cailan gave me the most jealous look when I read the postscript of your second most recent letter to him. I don’t think he likes being thrown over for wild animals. Not that you meant it like that, of course. He misses you. So do I._

_I’ll write you again as soon as I have news about when I’ll be returning to Ferelden._

_With love,_

_Your Alistair_

**

Zeryn brushes her thumb over his signature and sighs, replacing the letter in her pocket. She’s read it half a dozen times today alone. _Any day now_ , she thinks. _Any day a new letter will come saying he’s on his way._

“Don’t tell me you’re going to be poring over boring paperwork all night again, Zeryn,” Ander calls out. A handful of armchairs and settees have been pulled around the firepit in the center of the hall and Anders, Sigrun and Nathaniel are all spread out around it. Anders himself is knitting away at some abysmally tangled looking excuse for a garment (she’s not even sure if it’s a scarf or a sweater, to be honest). Nathaniel is working away at his daggers with the whetstone she gave him, and Sigrun is sprawled across what she thinks the humans call a fainting couch (preposterous name. Laying down and fainting are not the same thing) with a book. Justice is around somewhere, hidden away in some nook doing Maker knows what. She lost track of everyone when Oghren stumbled off to his quarters to pass out.

“Truly, Commander, it is late. Whatever you’re working on will wait for the morrow. Seneschal Varel gave up on it all hours ago,” Sigrun says, lowering her book. Zeryn sighs again.

“You’re right,” she says, rubbing at the back of her neck where it’s starting to throb. “I keep thinking if I can just get it all done at once I won’t have to deal with it later, but every day there’s something new. Tell me again why anyone would want to be an arl, Nathaniel.”

“Status, mostly,” he says as Zeryn draws near the fire. “Power, wealth, all those people under your command. It’s a heady feeling, so I understand.”

“For some, maybe,” Zeryn grumbles. She swats at Sigrun’s booted feet and the other dwarf moves them obligingly so Zeryn can sit down and then replaces them in Zeryn’s lap with a smirk. “All I see is too many people’s lives at stake and a massive headache.”

“More people like you should be in charge of things,” Anders announces. “Then maybe we’d all have more fun and there’d be none of this deplorable oppression of the common folk. Like mages.”

“Always comes back to the mages for you, doesn’t it?” Nathaniel says.

“Not always. I also prefer to think of the beautiful women who’d be liberated by such an egalitarian society. Wouldn’t that be pleasant?” Anders lowers his needles and stares off into space for a moment.

Zeryn snorts loudly and ungracefully. “If more people like me were in charge, all we’d have were a plethora of smugglers and pickpockets going free, and more people doing whatever they wanted with their lives. There would be more corruption, not less. That’s why you don’t put dusters like me in charge. We just tell everyone to do whatever the fuck they want.”

Sigrun laughs; Zeryn can feel it in the way her feet curl in towards each other.

“You’re damn right, Commander. Put us dusters in charge and crime will go undoubtedly go up.”

“If you ask me, everyone would be much happier if we were all allowed to live as we pleased,” Anders says.

"You’re probably right,” Zeryn says, noticing Ser Pounce-a-Lot clawing at the ball of yarn on the floor by Anders’ feet. She stretches out her fingers towards the cat and he abandons the plaything almost immediately to arch his back under her hand. The cat leaps unceremoniously into Zeryn’s lap and over Sigrun’s feet to curl up in a ball against Zeryn’s stomach, purring loudly as Zeryn scratches behind his ears. “Anders, have you been neglecting your cat?”

“What? No!” He looks indignant. “I haven’t been neglecting you, have I, Ser Pounce-a-Lot? Noo,” he coos at the cat in her lap and then looks down at the abomination of yarn in his hands. “I’ve just been…er, knitting.”

“Thrown over for a scarf. The injustice,” Zeryn says to Pounce as she pets him.

“It’s not a scarf! It’s a. Um. Sweater.” Zeryn arches a brow at Anders and he amends, “In theory?”

“I’m not sure what I’d call it, but that certainly is like no other sweater I’ve ever seen,” Nathaniel says, pointing the dagger in his hand at Anders’ creation.

“Yeah, yeah, all right. It’s a work in progress,” Anders mutters.

Zeryn snickers as everyone falls silent. Over the crackling of the fire comes the steady click-clack of Anders’ knitting needles and the rasp of Nathaniel’s blade against stone. Sigrun flips a page, and Zeryn glances over at her.

“What’re you reading, Sig?”

Sigrun passes the book to Zeryn, who takes it in one hand so that she can keep petting Ser Pounce-a-Lot. Zeryn’s raises both eyebrows and grins when she sees the title. “I, uh. Thought you were going to put that one back?”

“I was. I mean, I did.” The other dwarf blushes.

Zeryn flips through a few pages with her index finger, smirking. “You know, the elf who helped me learn how to read – well, get better at reading, really, my sister did most of the work – he had me practice by reading Antivan and Ferelden romances like this one in camp. Out loud.”

Sigrun gasps, her blue eyes going wide. “He didn’t!”

Zeryn grins salaciously, biting her lip to keep from laughing at the outraged expression on Sigrun’s face. “Oh, he did. It was quite effective too – I was too busy laughing over the stories themselves to worry about how bad of a reader I was. And the look on Alistair’s face!” She chuckles. “He was so mortified. Every night.”

“I could never…” Sigrun shakes her head, but amusement crinkles the tattoos around her eyes. The door to the hall creaks open and then slams shut loudly.

“Eh, you get used to it. These books can be downright educational. If a bit implausible,” Zeryn winks at Sigrun. “This one…” she goes back to skimming it again, flips a few more pages. “I don’t think I ever read a Nevarran romance before. This one seems pretty well written, as far as these things go.”

“My lady,” Anders sounds impressed. “I knew I liked the way you think.” He smirks. Zeryn rolls her eyes at the mage, and Sigrun shifts beside her.

“Oh, don’t even pretend to be surprised, Anders. We all know you’re not,” Zeryn says. Anders affects a wounded expression, and is on the verge of responding when someone clears their throat loudly.

“Commander,” the guardsman across the fire bows. “Pardon the interruption, but you have a visitor.” A cloaked figure emerges from behind him, Mabari at his side. The man pushes back a dark blue hood to expose damp blonde hair and the silver gleam of Grey Warden armor beneath.

“Certainly, if it’s an interruption, I can always come back at a more convenient time,” Alistair says.

Zeryn drops the book in her hand on Ser Pounce-a-Lot, who mrowls indignantly and springs away. “A…Alistair?” she says, unsteadily.

He smiles broadly, all good humor and boyish enthusiasm and something else, deeper, in his eyes. He looks like a starving man who has just caught sight of a feast but is not quite sure it’s for him, makes a movement like he’s bouncing on the soles of his feet, and then simply says, “Hello, my dear.”

Zeryn stands and Sigrun makes a quick move to get her feet out of the way and snatch the novel before it hits the floor, but Zeryn notices nothing of this. She fixes her eyes on Alistair’s face as if he might disappear, and moves towards him as quickly as her short strides can take her. Alistair bounces in place once more and then he, too, is rushing towards her. She’s not sure if she jumps him or if he picks her up but suddenly his hands are under her thighs and her legs are wrapped around his waist. She runs her hand down his face and then crushes her lips against his. He pulls her flush to him, the hard metal of his armor cutting into her skin, but she doesn’t care, runs her hands through his hair, down his neck, over the several days' worth of stubble on his chin, across his pauldrons, and finally hooks her fingers inside the front of his breastplate where they belong. She drops her forehead against his, breathes, “Alistair.”

“So, you greet all your subordinates like this, do you?” Alistair grins cheekily, shifting her in his grip.

“Shut up and kiss me again, you great ox,” she mutters fondly, and Alistair obliges.

There’s a loud whine at Zeryn’s back and then Mabari teeth grab hold of her shirt. Cailan _pulls_ and the movement is so unexpected for them both that their lips slide apart and Alistair topples forward, Zeryn underneath. Cailan shoves at Alistair with a shoulder and manages to wriggle in between the pair. He wastes no time in setting upon Zeryn’s face with his tongue.

“Cai…Cailan!” Zeryn sputters, hands scrabbling at him feebly. “What are you – will you stop that?!” The dog ignores her in favor of more licking, his stump of a tail wagging furiously and Alistair rolls himself to the side and off them both, laughing. “Fine. Fine!” Zeryn is reduced to giggling. She wraps both arms around the Mabari and snorts into his fur. “All right, I’m sorry for ignoring you. I missed you too, boy.” Cailan pulls back and woofs at her, and Zeryn scratches under his chin and rolls her eyes. “Pushy, pushy. What kind of manners have they been teaching you over there? Do you…why in the void do you smell like lavender?” Cailan whines loudly.

“They made me bathe him every few days or I couldn’t take him anywhere,” Alistair says.

“The nerve!” Zeryn coos as Cailan flips over onto his back and she rubs at his stomach. “I hope you rolled in lots of mud puddles on the way here, boy.” Cailan twists his head and woofs in confirmation. “Making you smell like flowers! It’s outrageous. Who’s my good dirty war dog? Yes, you. Good boy.” Cailan’s hindquarters wiggle like mad.

“All right, that’s enough, shove off, boy.” Alistair says, pushing Cailan back rightside up and pulling Zeryn to him with one arm. “She’s mine too, you know.”

“Mm. Too right,” Zeryn says, snuggling against Alistair’s chest and kissing the side of his mouth.

There’s a loud cough that sounds suspiciously like Anders and Zeryn pulls back to find everyone standing around the fire and staring. Even Justice has emerged from wherever he was.

“Er. We should probably…introductions might be in order, my love,” Zeryn says. Alistair looks up and turns crimson from his throat to his hairline.

“Yes, of course. Careless of me. Don’t mind us – we’ll just. Um. I’ll just get off the floor now, shall I?” Alistair bounds to his feet and holds out his hand to help Zeryn up, pulling her off the ground in one smooth, effortless motion. She stumbles into his side, caught off guard again by the strength in him, and tamps down a giggle.

Alistair looks down at her with an arched brow and she covers her mouth with her free hand to hide her grin and folds her fingers between his.

“Right, around the circle then. Everyone, this is Alistair. Alistair, this is Nathaniel Howe,” Zeryn says, motioning to the dark-haired archer.

“Pleasure,” Nathaniel says shortly, his hands curled into near-fists at his side. A muscle twitches in Alistair’s jaw and Zeryn elbows him – not enough to hurt him, armored as he is, but enough to be noticed. Alistair looks down at her and then takes a step forward and offers the other man his hand.

“Howe. Good to meet you. My…Zeryn speaks highly of your skills.”

Nathaniel relaxes as he shakes Alistair’s hand. “The Commander is generous,” he says.

“And this is Anders,” Zeryn says, prodding the introductions along.

“Ah, the mage. Pleased to meet you.”

Anders looks far too amused for his own good. He gives Alistair a slow once-over and looks to Zeryn. “Aaand you weren’t kidding about him. My.” He spreads both hands in a motion that encompasses all of Alistair and stage-whispers, “Specimen,” to her. Alistair flushes ruby-red. When Anders takes Alistair’s hand, he smirks and kisses the back of it instead of shaking it. “The pleasure, ser, is all mine.”

“Anders. Don’t make me come over there,” Zeryn says sternly, perhaps more harshly than she means to.

Anders chuckles. “I can take a hint. No wandering hands when it comes to the Commander’s man. Anything for you, my lady.”

Zeryn narrows her eyes at Anders but Alistair squeezes her hand, the one he’s still holding onto, and smiles. “And Sigrun,” she says, moving on.

“I can’t tell you what an honor it is to meet the Warden who served with the Commander here, ser,” Sigrun says, looking a little star-struck and shaking Alistair’s hand up and down vigorously.

“Oh, believe me, I was mostly just there to stab things. Zeryn did all the real work,” Alistair says, his smile widening. “Please, call me Alistair. I believe Zeryn was extremely excited to find someone with so many shared life experiences to call a friend. I hope you’ll do the same for me.”

“I, uh. Certainly,” Sigrun blushes.

“And then there’s Justice,” Zeryn says. “Oghren has already passed out for the night, but I suppose I don’t need to reintroduce you two.” 

The spirit steps forward a pace or two but makes no other move. “It is good to meet a friend of Zeryn’s,” he says simply. Alistair recoils.

“Well. You mentioned he was…in the body of a corpse, love, but I…don’t think I really thought that one through. That’s…interesting.”

“Does my appearance offend you? You are not the first.”

“No, startles – startles, would be the correct word. Hm.” Alistair chews on his lip and stares at the spirit in Kristoff’s body for a long moment before he says, “I understand you’ve been a great help against the darkspawn. You have my thanks.”

Justice inclines his head. “I have been in pursuit of justice for the body I now inhabit. It has been good to have a purpose.”

“Yes, I…would imagine so,” Alistair says, still looking unnerved.

There’s an awkward moment of silence and then Anders coughs. Again.

“Well this has been a very pleasant evening. Lovely to meet the man we’ve all heard so much about. But I’m afraid I really should be retiring for the night. Lateness of the hour, and all,” Anders says. He starts gathering up his yarn and the thing he calls a sweater.

“Quite so. Good night, Commander.” Nathaniel sheathes his daggers, bows slightly, and starts towards his chambers. Sigrun murmurs something similar and does the same, and when Zeryn looks back, Justice has already disappeared.

“Well.” Alistair rubs the back of his neck when they’re all gone a moment later. “Glad to see I still know how to clear a room.”

Zeryn laughs, stands on her tiptoes to kiss his cheek. “This new lot is very perceptive that way. They knew there’d likely be physical violence done to their persons if I didn’t get to be alone with you, and soon.”

“That so?” Alistair puts his hands on her hips and pulls her to stand in front of him. “Very well trained lackeys you have now, my dear.”

“Mm. I agree.”

Alistair brushes a thumb over her lips and she sticks out the tip of her tongue against the pad of his thumb. His breath catches. He leans down to kiss her, the pressure of his lips soft and lingering this time, like he’s learning her all over again.

“By the Maker, I missed you,” he says hoarsely.

Zeryn touches the backs of her fingers to his face, strokes them against his stubble with an appreciative glow in her green eyes. “I missed you too.” She stops, tilts her head back. “What are you even doing here? I’ve been waiting for a letter to say you would be coming, not you.”

"I got the news I could come back a couple of days after I sent that last letter. Decided it would be better to surprise you with myself, rather than with another letter that would arrive barely before I did.”

She smiles. “It was a good surprise.”

“Yeah?” Alistair raises an eyebrow, and Zeryn nods. She swallows hard, suddenly on the verge of tears.

“Yeah,” she says. He kisses her again, this time all teeth and tongue, fierce like the way they used to kiss on the road when the world was ending around them, and when Zeryn pulls back he does that thing with his jaw, sticks it out stubbornly like a pouting child whose favorite toy has been taken away.

“Come on,” Zeryn says, taking his hand again. “Let’s get you out of that armor. Maybe even into a bath.”

“Your desire is my command, _Dragonslayer_ ,” Alistair smiles crookedly. Zeryn’s fingers tighten around his, and the look she gives him is hot and far from chaste.


	3. Baths and Blushing

Zeryn opens the door to her private chambers and pulls Alistair in by the hand, turning to slide the bolt closed behind them. Alistair whistles appreciatively, taking in the lit fire, the oversized four-poster bed, the general grandeur of a lord’s room.

“Spacious,” he says, turning back to look down at her.

“Benefits of being given an arldom,” she says. She makes a face. “Even if all it does is remind you how alone you are.” She bites her lip as the last comes out, blushing. Alistair cups her cheek in his hand, his green-gold eyes pained.

“My dear,” he says. “I am so so sorry.” He sighs, leans down to rest his forehead against hers. “Blasted Orlesians. I should have been back at your side weeks ago.”

Zeryn kisss him, running her lips over his gently. “Doesn’t matter. It’s done,” she whispers. She puts her hands on his shoulders, feels the sturdiness of him under her fingers, and what she doesn’t say is _You’re here now_ , but she knows they’re both thinking it. “Bath?” she asks, flicking her eyes to the door leading off to the washroom.

“Maker, yes please,” he says with a groan. She leans up to press a kiss to his cheek.

“I’ll get the water going.”

In the washroom, Zeryn turns on the tap into the stone tub and lets it run until the water is warm. She stoppers the tub and when she straightens, Alistair appears in the doorway sans cloak and armor. He’s dusty and beardy and tanned from days on the road, and Zeryn’s breath catches in her throat at the sight of him.

“Come here, you,” she says.

Alistair closes the distance between them in a few long strides and wraps his arms around her to pull her to him tightly. He kisses the top of her head, then her temple, her cheek, her lips and finally just holds her. Zeryn lays her head against his chest and breathes him in; he smells like rain and dog, the metal of his armor and pine. She leans back in his arms to tug at the base of his shirt and he smiles brightly at her.

“Yes, all right, shirt off, I can take a hint.” He shucks it easily, tosses it on the floor and smirks down at her. “In an awful hurry to get me naked, aren’t you, my dear?”

Zeryn’s already undoing the ties on his trousers.

“Yes,” she says, no hint of teasing in her voice.

The amusement in Alistair’s eyes turns to heat as Zeryn slips his smalls and his trousers down over his hips. They puddle around his ankles. Zeryn runs her hands up the golden hair on his thighs, over his angular hipbones to the taut muscles of his abdomen, and then she’s pulling the clasps from her hair and shedding her own clothes, Alistair’s big hands closing over hers and assisting. They tumble into the tub together, splashing water everywhere.

After that it’s a lot of soap used as an excuse for roaming hands. They take things slow, map each other’s bodies with hands and mouths. Alistair pulls back when he notices the nearly-healed wounds on her body, particularly the pink lines of giant teeth-marks that are already starting to scar.

“Lightning dragons,” she says in answer to the way he knits his brows and presses his fingers to the marks gently. “Nasty bastards, they are. Worse than the fire-breathing variety.”

“You never had this much scarring before,” he says. “Shouldn’t that Anders fellow have patched you up? He’s a healer like Wynne, right?”

Zeryn sighs and pushes some of his wet hair off his forehead. “He didn’t exactly have enough mana to see to a few bite wounds when he and the others were half-dead as it was.” Her tone is blunt, if a little repentant. “I told you I was the last one standing to take down that spectral one. It was a rough night after that. Mostly I was looking after them.”

“I suppose I tried to gloss over the part about how bad that fight really was.” Alistair’s face darkens. He covers most of one scar with his hand, says quietly, “You could have–”

Zeryn silences him with her lips on his mouth, murmurs, “I know,” and he wraps his arms around her tightly, blunt nails digging into her skin, and kisses her hard.

“Admittedly, this makes me less than enthusiastic about the whole ‘Dragonslayer’ thing,” he grumbles into her ear when he pulls back, the look in his eyes fierce. She snorts.

“I still killed it, didn’t?”

He growls a little. “At the very least, no more killing dragons without me there, love. I don’t like it.”

Zeryn chuckles, taps her fingers under his chin. “I think I can safely promise that. I don’t like it either – it feels wrong when you’re not there to have my back.”

“Good.”

She quirks a brow at him. “Good?”

“Can’t have you getting any ideas about how I’m not needed now that you have all these new lackeys, can we?”

She pffts, brushes a hand over his cheek and shifts forward in his lap. “As if any of them could ever replace you, you daft sod.”

Alistair bumps her cheek with his nose. “I dunno, you all looked awfully cozy tonight.”

“Are you jealous?” Zeryn laughs incredulously, tilting her head to the side so her damp red hair falls over one shoulder.

“That Anders is cheeky,” Alistair grumbles, glancing away. He’s blushing. Zeryn loves it when he blushes like this, naked in front of her, because his whole body gets red, the flush spreading up his chest and throat before it reaches his cheeks.

“You’re blushing,” she points out matter-of-factly, to make him redden more. It works as predicted.

“Am not,” he protests feebly.

“Are so,” she giggles. “Here,” she kisses his sternum. “And here,” she kisses his clavicle, then his throat. “And also here,” she kisses both cheeks. Alistair catches her shoulder and pulls her back.

“Stop that,” he whines, blushing still more, if possible. He grins like a schoolboy.

“I don’t think so,” Zeryn snickers. “So, jealous of Anders, then. He is cute, in a scruffy cat kind of way.” She lifts both eyebrows. Alistair squirms, putting his big hands on her sides. “But I’m not sure how that makes you jealous. He was flirting with _you_ , love, not me.” She smirks.

“He was flirting with you when I arrived.”

“Anders flirts with _everyone_. You should have seen him with Velanna.” She deepens her voice to mimic the mage, says, “ _Have I told you I find tattoos on women incredibly attractive?_ That was his opening line.” She snorts.

Alistair traces circles with his thumb on her stomach. “So you’re saying I shouldn’t be jealous?”

“That is what I’m saying, yes. Although…” she shrugs, looks coy. A hand toys with his beard. “If you _prefer_ to think of me in Anders' arms on the long nights without you, well…”

“Actually, no. I would most certainly not. Surprise.” His thumb stills, fingers digging into her sides, and Zeryn curls forward with a calculated smirk to brush her lips over his cheek and down to his mouth. When their lips meet, his grip tightens, and Zeryn licks her way into his mouth with deliberate slowness until Alistair groans and thrusts his tongue into the space between their lips.

She pulls back just as his tongue brushes hers, says, “Are you going to fuck me or are we going to keep on discussing the flirty mage?”

Alistair licks his lips. “The first one.” When she arches a brow at him without moving closer, Alistair rubs a hand over his face and groans. “You’re impossible. Fine. Zeryn, I’m going to fuck you. Happy now?” 

She nods lightly, pokes his chest and teases, “It still gives you trouble, I see. Say it with me now, love: fuuuck. Your Maker isn’t going to strike you down, I promise.”

“You are a terrible tease,” he grunts. “I know it’s absurd, but I keep expecting one of the sisters to appear and threaten me with a lashing. Or something.” 

“I’m sure I could oblige if you’re that desperate.”

“You’re an ass.”

“Yes,” Zeryn grins. She leans forward to pick up the kiss where they left off, and this time Alistair shifts her to the side so that he’s holding her with one hand, taking his cock in the other. Zeryn wraps her legs around him tightly and rests her hands on his shoulders without breaking the kiss. And then Alistair is sliding inside her, balancing her against his chest with the one hand, and this time it’s Zeryn who groans into his mouth, rocks her hips back against him until he’s fully seated. He sets a slow pace to start, moves his hand to splay it across the lean muscle of her stomach, brushes his knuckles against the bottom of her breast and then cups it in his palm. Zeryn twists her fingers into his hair and leans her forehead against his. It’s terribly, achingly familiar, the movement of their two bodies together in the quickly cooling water. When Alistair wraps the arm he’s supporting her with around her back to tug her closer, the shift in position makes Zeryn turn her head to the side and gasp, her grip on his shoulder and his hair tightening. He moves faster, snaps his hips into her with more force. Zeryn closes her eyes, murmurs his name like a prayer, and it doesn’t take much more than that for Alistair to come with a shudder. She drags her nails gently against his scalp as he rides out the aftershocks, says in a low tone that she doubts he even registers, “That’s it, love. That’s it.”

Alistair inhales raggedly, his free hand abandoning her breast to stroke down her stomach and then he rubs his fingers against her clit – slowly again, at first, then faster as Zeryn arches in his arm until she cries out his name again and comes.

Alistair wraps both arms around her and leans his head back against the back of the tub.

“Stones of my ancestors,” she murmurs, “you’ve gotten good at that. Sure I shouldn’t be the one being jealous here?”

He chuckles, presses a kiss to her forehead. “You’re the only lady for me, my dear. But I _did_ have a good teacher.”

Zeryn smiles proudly, butts her head under his chin. “You did, didn’t you?” Alistair tucks his fingers under her chin to tip her head up and kiss her with an ‘mm-hm’.


	4. Morning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Zeryn is not a morning person.

Zeryn wakes up in the dead of night with a chill. Alistair’s arm is wrapped around her side, and he’s a pillar of warmth at her back, but the rest of her is cold. She disentangles herself carefully and pads over to poke at the fire, adding a few logs. Cailan lifts his head from his bed of blankets and whines. 

“It’s all right, boy,” she says softly. “Go back to sleep.” She rubs her hands down her arms and glances at Alistair’s bag, left haphazardly on one of the chairs before the fireplace. Opening it, she locates one of his shirts by feel and slips it on. It falls to her mid-thigh. A warm pressure on her side causes her to glance down at Cailan, who whines again. “Can’t sleep?” She asks him. 

The Mabari looks pointedly at the bed. 

“Oh you think I’m going to let you on the bed, do you?” She chuckles, and he gives her his best puppy-eyes. Zeryn snorts. “All right, fine. But just for tonight, and only ‘cause I missed you.” Cailan looks smug and starts towards the bed and Zeryn hisses quietly, putting a hand on his neck. “Mind you stay on _my_ side of the bed, you troublemaker.” 

Cailan licks her hand and goes to hop on the end of the bed. 

“Not fooled by the innocent act, Cailan,” she mutters as she climbs in after him. He wags his stump of a tail as Zeryn snuggles back under the covers and against Alistair’s side. His arm returns to drape over her and Cailan inches himself forward on the bed until he’s pressed up against her opposite side. She scratches his ears and murmurs, “Don’t have to worry about being cold with the both of you around, do I? Whatever did I do without you two?” The dog snorts quietly at her as if to say _I haven’t the faintest._

**

In the morning, Zeryn wakes to the tickle of Alistair’s beard on her neck and his lips pressed just beneath her ear. She groans and shakes her head slightly, tugging the covers over her shoulder and curling in on herself, which just pushes her more securely into Alistair’s arms. He chuckles and tugs her closer, his big hand tracing down the thick muscles on her thigh under the blankets as he plants kisses along the edge of her jaw. Zeryn doesn’t open her eyes. On her other side, Cailan whines loudly.

Alistair lifts his head and peers over her at the Mabari, who thumps his tail as best as he is able. “Your dog is in the bed, love.”

“Mm,” she mumbles.

Alistair pulls his arm out from under the covers to shove at Cailan slightly. “All right, you’ve had your fun, go on, shoo.” Zeryn makes a noise of protest, both from the loss of contact and the treatment of the dog, as Cailan gives Alistair a mournful look and hops down to the floor.

“Mean,” she protests as the mattress dips and then raises when the dog is gone, eyes still closed. 

“Yes, I’m terribly mean. And I don’t even care, because I have you all to myself,” Alistair murmurs warmly. He rolls Zeryn over onto her back and pulls the blankets up around his shoulders, enclosing them both in a makeshift tent. In the resulting draft, Zeryn twitches.

“Mm-mm!” she complains loudly, green eyes opening. “ _Alistair_ ,” she whines. 

He pushes the shirt she’s wearing down her arm and kisses her bare shoulder. “Yeees?”

Zeryn tries to roll back onto her side and tug the blankets away from him, closing her eyes again.

“Too blighted early for this, stone take it,” she mutters. “Pain. Lots of pain, if you don’t give me the blankets back. Maybe the rack. I have a dungeon now, you know.”

He laughs and rolls her back. She opens one eye to glare at him. “Did you just threaten to torture me, love?”

“Mm.”

“That’s new,” he says, brushing her red hair off her forehead and cheek so that it flares around her head against the mattress. He tips his head. “Are you wearing my shirt?”

“Mm. Was cold. Still cold, dammit.”

“Whatever can we do about that, I wonder.” Alistair pushes the hem of the shirt up her thigh with a smirk and bends to kiss her hipbone. 

Zeryn curls her toes in an effort to warm them and complains, “My toes are even cold!”

He reaches down with one ridiculously long arm and wraps a hand around the top of a foot. “These ones?” Zeryn crosses her arms over her chest and glowers at him without playing along. He grins and slides down to her feet, disappearing under the covers. She feels his hands rubbing her feet and toes briskly and then the warm pressure of his lips as he kisses each toe individually. Her head drops back against the mattress and she closes her eyes once more. She’s almost asleep again when he stops his ministrations on her feet and starts kissing his way up her right leg. 

Then he sets his chin on the hard muscle of her lower abdomen and grins at her cheekily. Zeryn reaches to brush the backs of her fingers through the hair at his temple.

“Nuisance,” she murmurs fondly.

“Happily,” he says, his chin digging into her skin as he speaks. She snorts. He bends his head to kiss her stomach, splaying a hand across her side. Zeryn blinks sleepily and lets her hand follow the movement of his head by tangling her fingers in his hair. Alistair brushes his lips down her skin until he reaches the thatch of hair at her groin, which is a darker red than the rest of her hair, more like Rica’s hair actually than the carroty-orange hair that Zeryn has. He pushes her legs apart with his free hand and licks a path up her slit. Her fingers tighten at his scalp and she lets out a quiet gasp. Moving up, he pulls her clit into his mouth and sucks.

“Alistair!” she groans. He stops. 

“No good?” His brow furrows in concern. 

“What?” She lifts her head to peer down at him. “No, don’t stop, Maker’s breath. Just…” A smile flits across her lips. “Were you always this enthusiastic, love?”

“I’ve had a lot of time to think about exactly what I want to do to you,” he says, his green-gold eyes hot. When she raises her eyebrows and smirks, he blushes and buries his face in her stomach again. 

“Fucking void,” Zeryn groans, tugging his head up by the hair so she can look at him. “You are so blighted beautiful, it hurts me.” His breath hitches in his throat, cheeks still red under the scruffy beard he’s sporting, and he tugs her down by the hips until her face is close to his. He kisses her roughly until her lips part and he slips their tongues together. 

She pushes him back by the shoulders after a moment. “I love you to pieces and all, darling, but your breath smells like a bronto’s ass.” 

He looks mildly offended, but chuckles and kisses her neck instead. Zeryn giggles and twitches at the unfamiliar rasp of his beard on her skin.

“That tickles,” she says. 

He gives her a mischievous look. “What, this?” He rubs his chin into the junction between her neck and shoulder. 

“Sto-op,” she giggles. “You’re going to leave a mark, and then Anders is never going to shut up.”

“The mage,” Alistair says in a tone of utmost dignity, “can take it up the ass.”

Zeryn curls into a ball from laughter, tears in her eyes. “Careful, love,” she gasps. “He would probably like that.” Alistair groans loudly.

Zeryn’s fingers brush over his cheek and she peers intently at his face.

“Am not,” he mutters to her unasked question.

“A little,” Zeryn says, jabbing a finger into the red splotch on his cheek. “Right there.”

Alistair gives his head a vigorous shake from side to side, like a dog shaking out its fur, and slides back down the bed again until his head is between her legs and the blankets hide him partially from her gaze. She scoots up the bed quickly and crosses one leg over the other.

“Nuh-uh. That ship has sailed, as you humans say.” She lifts the blankets to reveal Alistair leaning on his elbows and giving her a ridiculously forlorn expression. She crooks a finger at him. After a moment, he scoots up to her side. Zeryn tosses the blankets aside and pushes him back against the bed before straddling him. She takes his cock in hand and raises a brow before she does anything. 

“Maker, do you even have to ask?” Alistair groans, the put-out expression gone completely. “Anything, love.”

Zeryn guides him inside her and rocks her hips against him slowly, until Alistair sits up again. He puts his hands on her ass and starts thrusting his hips to meet her. She curls against his chest as she rotates her hips.

“There,” she murmurs. “Nothing too complicated.”

“For…now,” he kisses the top of her head and grins at her.

They come within moments of each other and when Zeryn slips off him, she grabs for a pillow. “Noww can I go back to sleep?” 

“Don’t you have – I don’t know, things to do? Warden-Commander and all?” Alistair asks, propping himself up on an elbow beside her and tracing patterns into the muscle of her side.

“They can handle things for a few more hours,” Zeryn murmurs. “Or should I say, they can…take it up the ass?”

Alistair groans. “Not gonna live that one down, am I?”

“Not a chance,” Zeryn smirks.

**Author's Note:**

> Follow me on tumblr for the odd drabbles from Zeryn's perspective and frequently advance postings of fics about her: thecryoftheseagulls.tumblr.com


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